Page 86 of Savage Throne
Song gave me a sad smile. “Monique.”
My bottom lip quivered. “T-there’s got to be another way.”
“There is.” Leo gestured to a blade that just fucking appeared in his hand. “But let’s not gothatway.”
I stared at the glinting threat in his hand and then lifted the bag. “Alright. . .”
And just like that. . .I walked, terrified out of my mind.
You’re going to kill people. That’s that.
Blood drained from my face as my body went numb.
Point and pull the trigger. That’s it. And just. . .we will never think about this again.
My palms went slick with sweat as I clutched the bag tighter.
You can do this. You have to.
For Jo, Chloe, TT. For every Black woman who had to square their shoulders to silence the fear in their mind, and stare down what everyone else would run from.
Come on.
I pushed forward.
This isn’t the first time you’ve done the impossible. Remember?
The memories surged up, quick flashes of nights spent shielding my sisters from the storm, when the power would go out, and all we had was each other’s warmth.
Those were the nights I learned how to turn fear into courage, how to take the tremor in my voice and make it steel.
Tonight will be no different.
I felt a pulse of warmth at the base of my spine—a surge of adrenaline, like fire in my veins.
Steadying me.
Preparing me.
I forced the fear into a corner, locking it away.
It wasn’t welcome here.
We don’t get to flinch. We don’t get to pause. We shoot. We kill. We get the fuck out of this situation.
The canvas entrance to the massive tent loomed ahead.
The flaps rippled in the night wind.
I swallowed hard, fighting the bile rising in my throat.
I let out a shaky breath and focused on pumping myself up in my head.
Black women have carried the weight of the world for centuries, holding it up on their backs while daring it to break them. You’re not just Monique tonight. You’re every fighter. Every survivor who chose life, even when it was hard.
Then, Leo’s last words rang in my head like a battle cry. “Show them who you are.”
I stopped in front of the flap and reached for that fire, that relentless part of me that refused to break. The part that learned resilience the hard way.
